Chapter Three
Mason
Slamming the deck door shut and turning the locks wasn’t enough. I needed to be safe, hidden, so I tugged at the drapes, yanking at them until they covered the huge windows to block everything out.
Breathe.
Cold sweat clung to me, chilling me to the bone even as my lungs burned, the lack of oxygen making my head spin. My chest grew tight, restricting movement, like an iron band strapped around me, pulling tighter and tighter, sucking the life out of me.
Breathe.
I fell to my knees, my whole body shaking as I desperately sucked in some air but couldn’t seem to get enough. I continued to try, again and again, but nothing worked, my lungs refusing to cooperate, to function.
I was suffocating.
My vision dimmed, turning black around the edges, fading until I lay in the dirt and the grime of the alley, strong hands holding me down, the cold steel barrel against my head.
“No,” I whispered. “Please, no.”
I blacked out before the gun fired.
*
Sunlight, warm on my face, drifted me into wakefulness. The usual comfy soft mattress and luxury cotton sheets were oddly solid as a rock beneath my body. Reluctantly opening my eyes, I squinted at the brightness, instantly shifting my head to move out of the burning light coming in through a gap in the drapes. Reality seeped through the fog of my mind as my surroundings gradually came into focus, the room at right angles. I lifted my head, taking stock of where I was laid out on the floor in the living area, and not in the bedroom. The hard wood surface underneath me was the reason for the stiffness in my muscles.
Why was I on the floor? And why were the drapes closed? My brow furrowed as I tried to make sense of what had happened. I hadn’t closed them once since being here, preferring the inky blue-blackness of the night, rather than the stark monochrome interior. There’d been no need with the seclusion Gabe’s house offered and with the beach house next door, my only neighbor, standing empty.
Until last night.
The memories flooded through me in a rush, hurtling into my awareness with enough speed to make me woozy. Me outside, the man on the steps startling me, the panic attack at seeing someone in the dark it subsequently triggered. Me, inside, on my knees, trembling, struggling for air as my world disappeared into nothingness.
“Shit.” I sat up, moving my head from side to side to work out the kinks in my neck, then rolled carefully to my hands and knees, gingerly getting to my feet. Mindful not to move too fast in case I got lightheaded and blacked out again.
I was a fucking mess.
Moving over to the drapes, I created a bigger opening between them, then peered through, not expecting to find anyone, but searching anyway for any signs the guy I’d seen last night lurked outside. Seeing no one, I pulled the thick material all the way apart, letting the daylight flood in and fill the dark corners of the room with its comforting brightness.
I wanted to open the doors and let the morning in, allow the refreshing sea breeze to wash away the remainder of my episode. Reaching for the french doors, my fingers shook when I took hold of the keys, and they jangled loudly in the airy space. Numerous attempts to get the metal to turn in the lock were futile, so eventually I gave up trying.
Forcing myself back into my strict routine, I showered, and dressed in a light cotton navy shirt and chinos instead of my usual shorts. Now I had neighbors, there’d be the distinct possibility of being seen, and although faded, I was well aware of the pale-yellow bruises still covering my body. Luckily, the ones on my face were almost gone, unless one looked closely, but I wasn’t up to being stared at this morning.
After making my usual Saturday breakfast of natural yogurt and fresh fruit and setting up the coffee machine, I sat on the high stool at the kitchen counter, eating the first mouthful, when there was a light knock on the window.
My eyes flicked warily to the glass doors. They locked once more with the guy I’d seen last night, instantly making me tense. Indecision as to what I should do churning in my gut, glued me to my seat.
“Hi,” he greeted cheerily through the glass and motioned to the door. “Can I come in?” I continued to stare, my heart beginning to pick up speed. Why was he here, and what did he want?
Younger than me, likely early to midtwenties, he had short, messy, dark brown hair. Strong jawline, visible cheekbones and a button nose that made him look more friendly than dangerous, the wide grin on his face only reinforcing my assumption.
His skin was tanned, and his body rangy, likely from outdoor exercise rather than from a gym like me. He appeared dressed more for surfing than running, with colorful boardshorts and a bright yellow T-shirt.
Perhaps my reasoning was due to his open nature or the fact he looked younger and, from this distance, smaller, but despite my trepidation, he didn’t make me feel scared. Apprehensive, yes, but not afraid of him. This discovery shocked the hell out of me as apart from my friends everybody else pretty much scared the crap out of me these days.
Placing the cereal bowl on the marble countertop, I cautiously made my way over to the door leading to the deck. I forced my fingers to grip the key, and the guy retreated a couple steps in readiness for me to turn it and open the door.
Up close, I was able to determine I was an inch or so taller than him, and strangely, the slight difference in height helped relax me somewhat. I mean, logically I acknowledged people shorter than me can carry guns too; they’re not exempt or restricted, but my reaction took me by surprise anyway.
I’d used Gabe’s home gym quite a bit since coming here, trying to bulk up and gain strength, ensuring I’d be able to fight back if I was ever attacked again. Plus, on Gabe’s recommendation, and after some heavy vetting, I’d reluctantly had a crash course in self-defense from a local martial arts coach to ensure I was always ready to fight, always prepared, so if this guy tried to attack or overpower me, I’d knock him on his ass.
Hmm, and exactly how did that work out for you last night? the voice in my head derided me.
I ignored the annoying reminder of my weakness and concentrated on the guy instead, studying his body language, another topic I’d watched endless videos on while hiding away. He remained calm, his eyes friendly and his relaxed demeanor nonthreatening.
So far anyway.
Returning my gaze to his face, I noted the golden tan of his skin made the whites of his eyes bright, highlighting the vivid moss-green color of his irises and instantly reminding me of the forest skirting the town.
My brows snapped together. Since when did I notice what a guy’s eyes looked like?
Lindsay’s eyes were green too, and we were together for six years, but I don’t ever remember comparing hers to my surroundings or any variation of a color. Green was green, right? So why keep noticing this guy’s eyes and the dark brown flecks dotting the edges of his pupils?
My hand hovered over the key in the lock. I wanted to twist it, open the latch, but no matter how hard I tried, my brain refused to follow through. The guy’s sunny disposition from moments ago turned to confusion as he waited. He must be wondering what was going on and why I didn’t open the damn door and let him in.
But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.
He must have read the anguish on my face, the paralysis, the wanting to unlock and open the door, to let him in, but not being able to. He cocked his head to the side, assessing, a frown marring his smooth forehead, and for a second I panicked, thinking he’d get annoyed and leave.
Why didn’t I want him to go?
He turned and my insides dropped, panic increasing. I almost shouted at him not to go, but the words died in my throat when he walked over to the outside chairs, picked one up and positioned it in front of the doors, where he sat down, making himself comfortable.
He grinned. “Hi, I’m Ashton Michaels.” His rich voice skimmed over my skin. Low, soothing, and relaxing, making me feel immediately better. Relief washed over me that he hadn’t left me alone, and I was profoundly touched at his kindness and understanding of my situation.
I tried to speak, but the lump stuck in my throat prevented any words from getting past. “Hi,” I eventually croaked. Clearing my throat a couple of times, I tried again, louder this time so he’d hear me through the glass. “Hi, I’m Mason. Mason Wilder.” I squatted down, my eyes level with his. His grin widened, lighting up his whole face, and I was utterly mesmerized.
“Mason,” he confirmed, and I liked how my name sounded in his smooth voice.
This weird scenario of us talking, one on either side of a glass wall, should feel stupid, but for some reason it wasn’t at all. He’d sensed my distress and intuitively worked out how to help overcome the issue. No one had managed to make me relax in months, yet he’d managed to do so in seconds with hardly any effort at all.
“I wanted to come by and introduce myself.” He gestured with his head toward the other house. “I moved in next door”—he scrunched his face—“which you probably guessed by now.”
I smiled. Actually smiled. “Yeah, I figured you had.”
He turned sheepish. “I think I might have caught you off guard last night.” His statement was nicely phrased, and far better than saying he’d scared me half to death. “I’m sorry,” he continued. “I should have indicated I was there instead of hiding in the shadows.”
“It’s fine,” I said, trying to minimize my reaction as if it was nothing, instead of the panic-inducing episode it turned out to be. “I guess I didn’t expect anyone to be there; that’s all.”
“Yeah, I understand. I’d have gotten the jitters too if I found someone skulking around in the dark.” He grinned at me, and I automatically grinned back.
“What happened to the previous owner?” I asked. “The place looks lived in from what I’ve seen.” As soon as the words came out, a flush crept up my cheeks as I inadvertently revealed I’d taken a look inside.
From the outside the house appeared unoccupied, as the exterior was fairly run down, so I had only checked the place out to satisfy my professional curiosity. And to maybe pass the details on to Ty since he dealt with the housing side of the business. However, a closer look had me changing my opinion. A half-read newspaper sat on the arm of the sofa, reading glasses resting on top. An empty plate and a mug were placed on a small metal table beside it. Plus, clothes were piled up on an ironing board waiting to be attended to.
“Went over to take a peek, huh?” he teased.
“It— No, I—” This was silly. Since when did I get tongue-tied around people?
“The house does need a little work.” Thankfully, he let me off the hook, though a little work didn’t in any way cover what was needed to bring the place back from its current dilapidated state.
“So, you do get out?” he asked. “You don’t stay inside all the time?”
I shook my head. “No, not all the time.”
He mulled my answer over. “I guess I’m the only me who has you wanting to run and hide behind locked doors then, huh?” There was something odd about the way he responded, the resignation in his tone confusing me. “It belonged to my aunt,” he continued softly, and I had to take a second to work out we’d returned to my earlier question. “She died. Heart attack.” He looked away, his face pinched. “I wasn’t there.”
“I’m so sorry.” I replied, not sure what else to say. I was never much good at handling other people’s emotional stuff, empathy not being my strong point. But here, with Ashton, I had the urge to comfort him, to ease some of his pain. Not questioning why, I twisted the key, pressed down on the handle, and pulled the door keeping us apart open toward me.
“Come in,” I urged gently, surprised at the calmness in my voice, because in my chest my heart pounded like a drum. What was I doing letting him inside? I didn’t know him, didn’t know anything about him. He could be waiting to lull me into a false sense of security before attacking me, for all I knew.
I was being irrational, and of course, Ashton wasn’t likely to be an ax murderer or shoot me in the head, but the ever-present fear always simmered below the surface, ready to break free, given the slightest opportunity. I tried hard to work through that fear, to beat it, not let it win, but staying strong was proving tougher than I expected.
The warmth returning to Ashton’s face at my gesture partly eased my turbulent thoughts, confirming letting him inside my sanctuary had been the right decision. I’d have to be careful, but as long as I remained vigilant and prepared to fight, I’d be okay.
Scrambling to my feet, I stood awkwardly while Ashton got calmly to his as if trying not to spook me. He placed the chair in its original position, which I liked, his consideration showing politeness and respect. He walked over to me, crossed the threshold and entered the house. Keeping his distance, giving me space, he held out his hand. I eyed it suspiciously. Should I reciprocate? He might yank me forward if I did, twisting mine behind my back before attacking me. Looking up at the expression on his face, it was clear he sensed my struggle, and I marveled at how intuitive the man was. Did he act the same with everyone, or only me?
He didn’t try to force me, instead he stayed exactly where he was, hand extended, waiting. After an age, I lowered my eyes to watch and tentatively reached across the space placing my own hand in his, his slim fingers automatically enclosing me in his grip.
I hadn’t let anyone touch me since I’d come out of the hospital so wasn’t in any way prepared for how the sensations of his fingers on mine affected me. His hand was warm, his palm smooth, but the tingling electricity feathering over my skin and up my arm was what surprised me most.
Having been without physical contact for so long, my brain registered every minute detail about his response to me—the pulse under his skin beating faster than normal, the warmth from his hand growing, getting hotter the longer we were linked together, the slight catch of his breath.
All these tells registered as our hands entwined, and in that second, I’d never been so connected to anyone in my life.
“You okay?” Ashton asked me, his voice deeper, huskier, without the glass barrier separating us.
Nodding and realizing I still held his hand, I reluctantly released him, cooler air swirling around my palm as my arm lowered to my side.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” I said, and I got a shrug in return, his response indicating he wasn't going to say any more about his aunt. “Please, won’t you sit down?”
He walked over and dropped onto the sofa making himself comfortable, his eyes taking in the room. After he’d done a sweep he whistled, long and low, making me smirk. “Nice place.” The fingers, which moments before were shaking my hand, traveled over the dark black fabric on the sofa, absently caressing the fibers, making me wonder how they’d feel gliding along the nape of my neck.
Jolting at the thought, I gave myself a mental shake, trying to figure out where the notion had come from, and deciding I must seriously be lacking female company if I kept thinking about some guy’s fingers touching me. Yet I couldn’t look away as he placed his arm on the back of the sofa, the only thing missing being someone for it to be draped around.
“You been living here long?” Ashton asked.
What? Oh. “Just over a month.”
“You don’t get out much, huh?” he asked turning to face me.
I smiled. “Not much. I should get out more, I know.”
“So why don’t you?” Good question, and one I should have an easy answer to but found difficult to find the words for. Why didn’t I get out more? Why did I hole up in the house rather than explore the area? Why move from imprisoning myself in my apartment to doing the same thing in a beach house by the sea?
The view was prettier, I guess, though the railings on the deck may as well have been bars on a cage for how far I traveled.
Ashton studied me for a few seconds. “You know if it helps to have someone with you when you go out, I’m gonna be here for the foreseeable future, so will have loads of free time.” My heart thumped, thumped, thumped against my ribs. “And I’d love to show you around, and for me to get reacquainted with the town again after being away for so long.”
“No, I’m good, thank you.”
A look of disappointment passed across his face, but he swiftly recovered. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have overstepped.”
“It’s okay,” I replied with a sigh. “It’s complicated.”
He looked thoughtful at my reply. “Do you live here permanently?” he asked instead, deciding to leave well enough alone.
“No.”
“Are you staying long?”
How long was a piece of string? “Awhile.”
He took time to answer, eventually agreeing almost absently. “Good. That’s good.”
It was?
“Here let me give you my number in case you need anything.” I didn’t, as most…well, all of what I needed I already got delivered. Groceries, takeout, prescriptions, but I liked that he wanted to help, be neighborly since we were living alongside each other.
I took his number. I didn’t message him or give him mine, and he didn’t question me about it. He got up from the couch, his body fluid as he stood, and the same sense of panic from earlier wrapped its cold tendrils around my senses.
I didn’t want him to go.
Why didn’t I want him to go?
“You, um, want to chat again tomorrow?” I asked, aiming to keep my voice neutral, not wanting to sound desperate, even if I was, but trying to remain nonchalant. “If you’re not busy, that is?”
His smile lifted me. “I’d like that,” he said softly, his eyes warming. They twinkled, and God they were the most amazing green. “Only if you’re not busy either,” he teased and I laughed, realizing this was the first natural one I’d given since my assault.
“Obviously, I’ll need to check with my PA.”
His turn to laugh. “Obviously.” He walked toward the door and was halfway through when he stopped and turned, looking at me over his shoulder. “My friends call me Ash.”
“Ash,” I repeated, the warm feeling in me growing at the inferred intimacy of being able to call him a friend.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he confirmed before he disappeared.
I remained where he’d left me, not moving until a long time after, staring out at the sea and sky, wanting to keep the connection, to savor what we’d shared, and already counting down the minutes until I’d see my friend again.